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Friday, November 6, 2015

Out of Control - Chapter One

“Come on now, old
girl, you have to keep up or we’ll miss the good doughnuts and end up with the
ones with the holes in the middle!”

The good doughnuts
meaning the jelly and cream-filled
ones. Libby rolled
her eyes, fighting
the urge to
tell her grandmother that she could
run circles around her and her
old cronies, if she wanted to give
herself away. Every five minutes
she was forced to remind her grandmother that she was an old friend and
supposed to be acting like a seventy-year-old woman. All of which usually fell
on deaf ears.

She bent to drag
up a sagging knee high doing
her best to catch up,
imitating the surprisingly rapid
gait of her grandmother, while at the same time trying to insert a little age into
her step. Goodness,
you’d think she hadn’t eaten a doughnut in a month, not
just the Monday before. Libby thought about the pancakes they’d had on Friday. If this kept up she was sure her one hundred
and ten pound weight was going to double by the end of the summer!

“I’m doing the
best I can, Gram…Margaret,” Libby said in the scratchiest voice she could
muster. Even after a week she was still having a difficult time remembering to
call her grandmother by her first name. Old habits were hard to break.

“The old fool is
interested in you,” Margaret continued, not breaking her brisk stride. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You’re
new meat. He’s nothing but a big flirt
and he’s old enough to be your grandfather!”

“Well, he doesn’t
know that.” Libby chuckled, waving back
at him one last time.

Her grandmother
made a disgusted
sound beneath her breath and nearly swung the club house door off its hinges when she opened it
to walk through. Libby remained on her heels, knowing
the drill by now. No time to stop and chat with any of the fifty or so elderly
who’d come to the meeting that morning.

The first priority
was the small buffet table someone had set up with hot coffee and a colorful
array of every kind of doughnut one could think of.

“Margaret…” An overweight woman close to Margaret’s age
greeted her. “I was wondering—”

“I’ll be right
with you, Lois.” Margaret made a beeline for the table. Libby grinned beneath the heavy makeup she was
wearing, watching her grandmother snatch up a paper plate and cream-filled
sweet in one smooth swoop.

Libby paused in the foyer to the large dining room, grimacing at her reflection in the
mirrored wall. She’d gotten her money’s
worth. The heavy theatrical makeup she’d
purchased at the local theater certainly did what it was intended to. No one,
unless they were looking for it, would be able to guess her secret. And with the age limit restriction of fifty
plus, Libby knew the importance of that.
She’d never be allowed to live there if anyone knew the truth.

She took a moment
to straighten her hair, which was really a wig in the prettiest shade of blue
silver she could find. It hadn’t been
easy stuffing her waist-length hair beneath it.
She’d even contemplated cutting off the red gold locks, but she’d always
had long hair and couldn’t bring herself to get rid of her best asset, or so
she’d been told most of her life. Clear
green eyes peered out
from beneath a pair
of fake bifocals that had the
thickness and color of coke bottle glass.

Libby glanced
around and almost laughed out loud.
Pedal pushers, as her grandmother referred
to capris, and
sneakers seemed to be the normal summer
wear for most of the women around there, while the men opted for
baggy knee-length shorts, white socks up
to their knees and
sandals. What was it with elderly
men, socks and sandals anyway? Her own father had tried to sneak out of the
house once wearing them and her mother had nearly had a heart attack!

Well, Libby wasn’t
making a fashion statement either in her borrowed clothes. She couldn’t
get by with capri
style pants; there wasn’t enough
makeup in the world that would
give her the lumps, wrinkled skin
or varicose veins that seventy-year-old
women wore like a badge of achievement. Libby was
forced to wear baggie dresses
that hung past
her knees and
thick ugly support hose, or long pants, which didn’t go well in the stifling Florida heat. And she had to
wear a blouse with long sleeves too, or reveal the fact that her underarms
didn’t flap like a free-blowing flag in the wind. The body suit she sported
gave her figure a full, slightly sagging appearance.

She tried not to
make a face at the sight she presented in
the multicolored dress hanging
almost to her ankles and gold sandals, reminding herself it was all
for a good cause. Every time she looked
at the happy face of her grandmother she knew she’d made the right choice, even
if her parents still had reservations. It had taken Libby a long time to
convince them just to give her plan a try. Three months, her father had stated
with authority, three months’ trial period and then they’d, meaning him, would
make a final decision.

“Reba, come get a
doughnut!” her grandmother hollered, remembering her name for a change. She’d
calmed down now that she had her breakfast and had joined some of her friends.
They were making their way to one of the empty tables, laughing and talking as
they moved along.

“Yes, join us, dear,” Joan encouraged. “After we eat,
Vincent’s grandson is going to talk to us about fire prevention and the
different types of fire extinguishers.”

“Yes, he’s going
to tell us how to put a fire out,” Libby’s grandmother added, smiling.

“He’s certainly
lit a few fires around here!” Someone else chuckled.

“Gertie!” Joan
chastised, turning her head to hide her own smile.

Is the woman
actually blushing? Libby glanced around
the room, looking for the retired Adonis that still had the power to make a
woman turn pink at the mention of his name.
If he was the same
man who’d saved
her grandmother, she
wanted to thank him.

“Good timing too,
considering what almost happened here a couple weeks ago,” another of her grandmother’s
friends mentioned.

“Yes, thank God
Logan was around then, too.”

It sounded like
Logan was around a lot. Libby vaguely
wondered if he had a love interest living there. “What makes him an expert on
fires? Just because he’s a fireman doesn’t mean he’s an expert on fires,” she
teased. She looked the strawberries over for just the right one. She popped one into her mouth, her lips
curving upward at their sweet and juicy taste.
Maybe she wouldn’t double her weight by the end of August…

After a
couple seconds of
devouring the delicious
fruit, Libby glanced up and fell
headfirst into a pair of laughing
gray eyes. Her jaw dropped, and she knew for certain that she was
staring into the face of Adonis himself. Oh my! She felt the heat spread
up her neck and settle onto her strawberry stuffed cheeks. He looked
wicked and wild, like something right off the cover of Playgirl. The gleam in his eyes was mesmerizing. There
was nothing retired about this man—he was in the prime of life.

His face was
bronzed by the wind and sun, and it was obvious he spent a good deal of his
occupation outdoors. His lips were firm
and sensual and curved with humor over her remark. Laugh lines fanned out from
his eyes. His handsome features were
rugged beneath the thick unruly cut of his streaked, tawny-gold hair.
Libby’s eyes continued
her silent inspection of
the man, taking in the powerful
build of his six-foot-plus body dressed in a sleeveless tee-shirt that revealed the well-defined muscles of his powerful
arms and faded jeans
he looked like
he was poured into. She couldn’t
help dropping her curious gaze
to the male attributes so clearly
defined behind his straining
zipper. There was actually a prominent bulge there! She caught her breath, praying her instant
reaction to his charisma wasn’t noticeable.

Dear Lord! No wonder Joan had blushed at the mention of
his name. And what gave him the right to dress like some hot stud around a
community full of elderly, weak-hearted women? Did he want to give them all
heart failure? Libby’s gaze shot back up to his face. She began to choke on the
strawberry when it slid down her throat the wrong way.

Concern quickly
spread across the man’s face. When he made a sudden move to come around the
table she panicked and waved him back.

“Let me help you,
ma’am, I’m a firefighter,” he explained as Libby coughed out of control.

Her eyes began to
water and she felt her glasses slipping down her nose. She didn’t care what he was. She didn’t want
him touching her in any way, shape or form. She shook her head, feeling her wig
slip and grabbed for it wildly. “I’m not
on fire,” she said between coughs, backing away from him. Her rump came in contact with a chair and she
nearly stumbled to the floor.

“You look red
enough to be on fire to me,” someone had the nerve to say with a loud laugh.

Was that her
grandmother’s voice? Libby glanced
in her direction to
see the merriment
dancing in her
ageless eyes. “Gr—Margaret!” she stuttered in a shocked tone, praying her
grandmother took the unspoken hint to behave herself.

“The poor dear is
choking!” a frail voice said, chastising her grandmother for being
insensitive. “Do something, Logan, help
her.”

Adonis was moving
closer and Libby knew if he touched her it would all be over. One attempt
to dislodge the strawberry would send her
padded boobs flying right out of
the oversized bra she was
wearing, and her
secret would be
exposed. She cleared her throat
and reached for someone’s water glass—she didn’t care whose—and
gulped enough down to cool
her suddenly overheated body. She
was actually sweating, and that was big trouble for someone wearing the amount
of heavy-duty makeup she was!

“Ma’am?”

Libby forced
herself to meet Logan’s eyes. Steel had
replaced the humor, turning his eyes into charcoal as they moved over her
quickly and efficiently, all with respect and concern and not the least bit
interest. Libby was a little
disappointed. Well, how did she think he
was going to look at her? With the same lust in his heart as she had in hers?

He was close, yet
he kept his distance, obviously not sure of her. “I’m fine, young man. It just
went down the wrong way.” For once Libby didn’t have to work at making her
voice crack with age. “You can go put out someone else’s fire.” Laughter erupted around her and his brows
rose and Libby realized what she said.

“You all right,
Reba?” Vincent, Logan’s grandfather,
made his way to Libby’s side in an uneven gait that was characteristic of
him. Compliments of an old war wound,
he’d told her. “Logan’s trained to save people, honey. He can do CPR and mouth to mouth.”

Mouth to
mouth! Libby felt faint all of a sudden,
her heart racing out of control by just the thought.

“Oh for goodness
sake, Vincent, she’s okay!” Margaret
snapped from her chair. “Come sit down
so we can listen to what Logan has to say about fires. And bring me one of those cream-filled
doughnuts when you come.”

“Guess I’m good
for something around here,” he grumbled good-naturedly. He gave Libby a
wink. “You go ahead, Logan. Say what you
need to before the old fool burns herself up in a fire. She’s the reason you’re
here.”

Logan’s eyes moved
over Libby one last time, as though to judge for himself that she was okay.
Satisfied, he gave a slight nod and
turned away. Libby released
a sigh of
relief, still thinking about what
Vincent had said about
mouth to mouth. Just the thought of Logan’s sensual
mouth on hers sent a sharp rush of intense heat throughout her body.

Goodness, she was
already experiencing hot flashes!

* * * *

“Wasn’t that interesting? Logan sure is a handsome devil and he knows
what he’s talking about too. If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be here today.”

Libby grinned,
deciding not to
remind her grandmother that the
little grease fire she’d caused
had hardly been life threatening since it had happened out of doors during a cookout at the pool.

“Maybe next time
you’ll make sure whatever you toss into a cardboard box isn’t
still on fire,” Libby quipped, noticing how slowly her grandmother walked when there wasn’t the promise of free coffee and doughnuts at the
end of her trek.

She couldn’t argue
with her comments concerning Logan. He was more handsome than any man had a right
to be. And just thinking about him stirred Libby’s blood surprisingly fast. She
reached up and wiped the sweat off her upper lip. If she
didn’t get out of these clothes
soon and cool down she
was going to suffer heatstroke.

Her grandmother
decided to ignore her comment about the fire. “Did you happen to notice how
gray Logan’s eyes were?”

As gray as silver
lightning and just as exciting. “Yes,” Libby responded.

“Did you notice
how tall he is?”

At least six foot
four. “Yes.”

“And those manly
muscles! Did you notice how well built
he is?”

Like the Viking
warrior on the cover of the romance novel she was reading. “Yes.”

“And that face.
Have you ever seen such a strong, handsome face? You should see him when he’s
all dressed up in his fireman garb. Vincent has pictures.”

Finally her
grandmother’s words got through to her.

“Gram, if I didn’t
know better I’d swear you have a crush on the man, when you should be
interested in Vincent. He told me he’s
been a widower for three years. I think he’s lonely.”

Margaret
snorted. “He’s a tomcat on the prowl, chases anything in skirts.”

Libby’s brows
arched high on her forehead. She’d been living
with her grandmother for a
week now
and hadn’t seen anyone in a skirt.
She started to pluck at her loose blouse. The heat was getting to her and it was only
ten in the morning. She’d love to be
able to throw
on a tank
top and pair
of shorts.

Wouldn’t that
cause a stir!

“Oh dear!”
Libby followed her grandmother’s gaze,
glancing up the huge oak tree until her eyes fell on the object of her
interest, calmly sitting on a branch as though it was a throne.

“So, that’s where
Rufus has been. Poor dear is probably
stuck up there and can’t get down.”

“I’m sure he’ll come
down when he gets hungry enough,” Libby pointed
out, shooting the old
tomcat a scowl. She and Rufus didn’t get along. And on top of that, she was tired of having
to rescue him from the same predicament.
Her grandmother seemed to have a selective memory when it came to remembering
that Rufus had managed to come down the tree all by himself until she moved in.

“But what if he
doesn’t? I can’t bear the thought of him
being hungry. He’s been up there for at least two days already.”

“He’s probably
made a meal of some poor old bird,” Libby said, continuing toward the house.
“There’s probably a nest full of helpless babies he’s tormenting.”

“Come on, Rufus,
come on down, baby. Come to Mama.”

Releasing a long
breath, Libby halted when she heard her grandmother gently calling to her old
cat. Guilt consumed her when
she thought of
how much her
grandmother loved that beast. Libby couldn’t just go inside and
not do something.

“Here, kitty,
kitty.”

Libby frowned;
Rufus hadn’t been a kitty for a long time. “Gram…” She quickly looked around when she realized her mistake. “Margaret, he’ll
come down when he’s ready.”

“No, he
won’t. He’ll go hungry. Or maybe he’ll fall because he’s so weak from
hunger.”

“I can’t go up
there after him, Gram,” Libby said beneath her breath. “I’m supposed to be an
old woman, remember?”

The sudden gleam
in her grandmother’s eyes should have warned Libby. “No,
but you can
go up there
as my visiting granddaughter,” she pointed
out without hesitation. “You have before.”

Libby glanced up at
Rufus, then back at her worried grandmother. She couldn’t argue
with that, and besides, she was hotter than heck. The thought of slipping into
something cooler, if just for a few moments, decided it for her. “Just give me
a few minutes while I run inside and change.” Maybe if she were lucky Rufus
would come down while she was changing.

It didn’t take her
long to strip out of her clothes and peel the cumbersome body suit down. She groaned when the cool air hit her warm
body, and then wiggled into a pair of cutoff jeans and a tank top.
Snatching off the wig,
she shook her hair free then quickly removed
her makeup and washed her
face before heading outside.

“I haven’t climbed
that tree in at least five days, Gram, so you might end up with both of us
stuck up there,” Libby said sarcastically, grasping the first limb and hoisting
her up.

Libby released a
grunt when she slipped, just managing to grab a branch in time. It didn’t take her long to reach the limb
Rufus was perched on. For a moment they
eyed each other with disdain. “Come on,
Rufus.” Libby reached for the overweight
orange feline. But as soon as she held her arms out, he released a hiss and
scampered further up the tree. “Rufus!
You…” She bit down on her lip to keep from swearing. He was higher than
he’d ever gone.

“Careful, dear,
don’t fall,” Margaret cautioned from below.

“I’m okay,” Libby grumbled,
glaring at Rufus, who remained just out of reach as if he knew the trouble he
was causing and enjoying every second of it. “But I’m not making any promises
about Rufus,” she finished in
a low tone so her grandmother wouldn’t hear. “Come on,
Rufus, give me a break. I just want to get you down so Gram will stop worrying
about you. Aren’t you hungry?” He didn’t look hungry; he looked like he could
miss a week of meals and be okay. Libby continued to climb. “If I didn’t love Gram, you’d stay up in this
tree until Christmas.”

“Not too high,
dear!” Margaret warned loudly.

Libby could
hear muffled voices
beneath her, aware someone had joined her grandmother. Probably one of her neighbors. She didn’t
glance down, keeping Rufus in eyesight as she continued to climb the giant oak.
Once again she was within grabbing distance, only this time she didn’t lunge.
If he climbed much higher she wouldn’t be able to follow him.

She offered the
grinning cat a smile. “Hello, Rufus, you
mean, ugly, smelly old cat,” Libby said in the sweetest voice she could muster.
“You see that sweet little old lady down there? She loves you, so be a nice
kitty and come here so we can both get out of this tree.”

All of a sudden
Rufus’s eyes got big, his back arched like a tightly strung bow, and he hissed
like Libby had never heard him hiss. For a moment she reared back, afraid he
was going to lunge at her with his exposed claws. She forgot where she was, losing her balance.
As she fell back, she let out a scream of pure fright.

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